


Citizen Zero

by Hitsugi_Zirkus



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Clear's Bad End, Flowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4621467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hitsugi_Zirkus/pseuds/Hitsugi_Zirkus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which in the midst of new obsession, Clear gives Aoba bouquets of flowers, covers his body with them. But in the end, blind, wingless dolls can't appreciate such wonderful and romantic gestures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Citizen Zero

**Author's Note:**

> Okay look, this fic is 1) based on a dream I had so this is already destined to be something that makes no sense, and 2) I was very much encouraged by Kuma to write this so thanks to Kuma for support of the angst *thumbs up* On that note, despite the premise that it all comes out all okay and is enjoyable to read *bows*

“What are these?”

In the hallways of Oval Tower, Clear’s gloved fingertips lightly brushed the delicate bulb in front of him. It was one of many tiny orbs, their pale wintry color nearly blending into the cold walls of the building. Had it not been for their green foliage, he possibly would’ve never noticed them, so focused was he on the hour of the day that bade him to make his way to the upper level cells.

As it was, he thought he was alone, until his ears picked up the sound of someone else’s breath and footsteps. An employee of Toue came from the around the corner with a clipboard, apparently having heard Clear’s musing.

“They’re erica flowers.”

“Why are they in the tower?”

“Sei requested Toue for them. A real bother if you ask me, but Toue didn’t turn him down.” He shrugged. “Sei doesn’t make a lot of requests, and Toue likes spoiling him.” With that, he appeared done with the conversation and continued down the hallway, not without batting some of the flowers draping from the ceiling away.

Clear watched after him, then looked back at the stout flowers, his fingertips still brushing one. He pinched one of the petals, testing its authenticity before plucking the flower off clean from the bunch. It nestled neat in his palm, a delicate creature that Clear had never seen before.

It couldn’t compare to the beauty of his favorite doll, but might work fairly close as an ornament.

* * *

Flowers became Clear’s new little obsession. He gathered many sorts of them to satisfy his curiosity and to fill up all the empty space in Aoba’s room and their special place where Clear operated on him. He was told that flowers liven up a space, which might have been why Sei requested for some himself. It was a bit of an irrelevant notion though considering Clear’s world was lit up more than enough by his beautiful Aoba alone, and Aoba’s whole world was nothing but Clear - they only needed each other. Everything else was mere scenery.

But, Clear supposed he might as well make that scenery pretty.

Aoba of course couldn’t see the gifts of bouquets Clear got for him, so Clear had fun describing the blooms to Aoba. It wasn’t information that could harm him, so Clear thought it would be okay for Aoba to know the presents he got him. But he did wonder how much meaning this possibly held for Aoba anymore. The flowers were white, or blue, their leaves green - Clear said these things to Aoba, but maybe by now it was too late for him to remember any color but black. At the very least, he can take in their perfume.

(Reality was such an easy thing to be cut off from and forget, like tangling a puppet’s strings before finally cutting them.)

Clear might have been spoiling Aoba a little with this, but he did suppose he’d been good lately, especially with the procedures. So good in fact that Aoba hardly made noise anymore aside from the stray whimpers and hitched breaths. He didn’t fight anymore. Clear knew these were Aoba’s true feelings now, to make Clear’s wish come true.

Really, he was so good.

Under the sheets Aoba was constantly wrapped in like a cocoon, there were abnormal dips at the middle of this thighs and below his biceps. Piece by piece, Clear had taken away Aoba’s sources of free will, his unnecessary parts that made him human. As beautiful as Aoba was, he was imperfect as a human. As his lover, his world, Clear took up the duty to fix Aoba.

This way, Aoba could only have the necessary parts to make him a captivating doll frozen forever. This way, he was truly perfect.

That was why, when Clear got to thinking what it was that was so different about the vibrant, breathing flowers when compared to his Aoba-san that was all pale skin and lovely ridges of bone, Clear decided that authenticity was such a peculiar, flawed thing. Artificiality - wasn’t that more of what was strived for?

“Flowers are used for many things, Aoba-san.” Clear’s arms were full of the bundle of his lover in his arms, his azure, straw-textured hair rubbing against his collar. In their special place in the small operating room, Clear placed Aoba down onto the cold steel table. It was as intimate as laying him down on the bed before he claimed him.

As always, it wasn’t visually apparent if Aoba was listening. But Clear was the only voice in the room, the only song that reached Aoba’s ears - so of course he was listening to the one-sided conversation, no matter how mundane.

“Once flowers are plucked, they start dying, don’t they? But humans find ways to preserve them. They keep the dried petals or press the whole flower. In that way, they’re kept forever to appreciate.” Clear smiled a bit as he said it, thinking of how one day Aoba too would be immortalized.

“Flowers must be very loved then,” was what Clear said in conclusion. He tucked back some of Aoba’s hair, tangled with forget-me-nots. Once, Aoba’s hair might’ve been the same bright, vibrant blue. Now the color looked washed out in comparison to the flowers, but Clear had weaved many in so it almost looked like the azure waterfall was Aoba’s again. When crystallized, Clear expected the effect to be quite stunning.

Along with the tiny forget-me-nots, a pair of white roses decorated Aoba’s body, sewn right back in the left side of Aoba’s chest after one of Clear’s small experiments. (And now Clear knew definitely that when it came to the insides, he and Aoba were still very different. The pump inside him was a bit crude when he could look down at the raw flesh of Aoba’s heart. But soon that kind of thing wouldn’t matter anyway, and so he’d put the roses in, the blood flecking their petals red in the process.) Red roses might've been better, as they are common gifts to lovers, but the white suited Aoba much better. There were even white egret flowers all laced up on the metal casings at the base of Aoba’s stumped limbs, a ghost of the wings he once had.

Today was the day. The day that finally, Aoba would be complete and become the precious doll that Clear had wished for him to be. Everything had gone so smoothly and had led up to this moment.

“I’m really excited, Aoba-san,” he said, brushing back Aoba’s bangs gently. “Aren’t you happy too? You’ll be perfect after this.”

Even without saying it, Aoba had to know what was coming. How easily he laid on the table might make one think he was unaware of his fate, but the reality was that by now, he’d accepted what Clear would do to him. That meant Aoba had to be happy about this too, right?

(Clear learned through observation how to read humans. Aoba wasn’t happy. He couldn’t delude himself for a second. But Clear was happy. Clear was overjoyed. He was--)

“Hmm?” Clear blinked, the sight of Aoba laying before him having momentarily gone blurry. But right afterward, he noticed something wet trailing down his cheek. Frowning, he brushed it off to examine at length. It wasn’t an oil leakage, so that meant…

Tears. He was crying. But why? Tears were for sadness, but on the day his wish was finally being fulfilled, should he not be happy?

Staring at the transparent liquid on his fingertips, Clear felt his world shift. “Why…?” he murmured, almost to himself.

Aoba turned his head toward Clear, as if to ask if he was alright. The sentiment was out of place somehow, and Clear stroked Aoba’s face as if to calm his own mounting panic rather than Aoba’s concern.

“That’s strange. Why...am I crying?”

 _I can’t stand to look at any of this_.

“Hey… Aoba-san…”

Again, Aoba showed that he was listening, that he was concerned for Clear. His lips opened, but nothing came out. His shoulder tensed, but he no longer had an arm to reach out and hold Clear’s hand, to reassure him with an open palm.

 _I think something is broken_.

He’d been putting it off for a long time, this maintenance to make sure he was functioning properly. Looking down at Aoba’s lips, slightly parted in concern, at the jut of his bones spread over worn skin, Clear saw all the warning signs of being broken. He remembered first seeing Aoba laying with test tubes pouring from him like the flowers were now, he remembered Aoba refusing to say his name, remembered Aoba touching the right side of his face - every time, an inexplicable emotion tugged inside his chest, but he’d ignored it, told himself he’d investigate it later.

Maybe now it was too late, and the damage was too much. Whatever was breaking down inside him, what if it tore him apart from Aoba again?

In the tool tray, there was a clink as Clear picked up the scalpel. Aoba, used to the sound, gave a ragged breath, but then ultimately sank into the table, giving in to his fate.

“Aoba-san,” Clear murmured. “Please be patient a moment. There’s something important I must check.”

At that, Aoba tilted his head in surprise. Clear only pressed a kiss to his forehead before spinning around to face the mirror placed above the sink. He brushed back the flowers crawling down from the ceiling to access the mirror, and he unbuttoned his shirt just enough to expose his chest.

Really, the researchers did such a good job putting Clear back together. Hardly any trace remained of the damaged he once did to himself, his new skin borrowed from defectives stitched neatly onto him. Why Toue decided to fix him instead of throwing him out was something he wasn’t going to question, especially after having this new opportunity with Aoba opened up. They all had their own agendas.

Maybe they’d fix him again?

Clear didn’t feel the first incision into his chest. He didn’t feel the second or third either and even when he could peel his skin open like a waking bud, he didn’t so much as blink. He ran internal scans frantically inside himself, searching for the source, the virus, the bug that was making him malfunction and causing him to ache and cry when Aoba was making all his wishes come true.

“Where is it,” he asked himself. Empty. Empty. His scanners picked up nothing. His fingers brushed against no torn wires or dislodged chip. No problems detected. That in itself proved how something had to be broken. Maybe more damage had been done to his recovery system than he thought when he stabbed himself before. How could he do something so reckless, so--

Aoba’s form laid in the corner of his reflection. Helpless. Tiny. So needing to be saved. A fragile human.

 _I needed to save him, right? That was why I_...

Clear picked up the scalpel and, reminiscent of that impulsive act, stabbed himself. The scalpel’s tip this time found its target right into the circuits of Clear’s chest. A spark flew. Get rid of the problem. Fix what was broken.

“Where is it, where is it…” Clear started murmuring it over and over to himself, breath becoming labored. His fingers twisted and pulled at wires. There was a click of a gear dislodging, tumbling down to the ground.

Aoba stirred on the table. “C...Cle...ar…”

“Where, where… Where is it, _where is it?_ ” His frustration was punctuated with more stabs and clawing of his fingers inside him. Wires hung down from the open incisions like tar-coated vines, and flecks of skin fluttered down once more like the forget-me-not petals tangled in Aoba’s hair.

Imitations were not supposed to be this complicated. Right now, he could see every component of his artificiality flurrying down. Malfunctions could be fixed easily, yet the source now was elusive, buried deep, deeper than the scalpel and Clear’s fingers could reach, and he tore at his pumps and circuits in hot panic.

“Cle...ar… Sto…”

“Aoba-san!” Clear slammed his hands down on the counter, enough to rattle the materials placed there and shake the mirror in its frame. With one harsh breath he turned to Aoba once more.

Aoba was human, even if barely now. His mind was complicated, even if brainwashed in black and dried flowers. He’d know. He’d know where it was. The brokenness.

His fist curled into the white roses on Aoba’s chest. Aoba gasped but had no limbs to struggle with, no will to fight Clear. He froze as Clear’s nails dug into his frail petal-thin skin. Below in the roots, surely the truth would show itself to Clear, if it wasn’t already dried and crystallized. If it wasn’t already plucked by Clear’s own hand.

His hand… Stained with oil. Clear paused. Smudges of oil coated the white roses, alongside Aoba’s dried blood, now fresh because of his ripping open of the stitches. But Aoba did not cry out in pain. He did not try to escape from Clear's hold. He couldn't. 

It could be that, already a long time ago, Aoba had already withered away and became a doll. Somewhere along the way, Aoba “died”, and Clear became the one that was too much and painfully “alive”.

Clear slid to the ground, his hand falling away from the flowers on Aoba’s chest. His limbs sprawled in front of him, feeling and looking odd, as if the gravity of their existence had just occurred to him. All this time his strings had been upright, but now, by his own scalpel, they’d been cut.

“Clear…?”

Aoba was very talkative today. Why now?

Clear felt his restoration systems stuttering around the damage he made, saw the error messages flash in front of his eyes. When they flashed off, there was just the morning glories twirling on the ceiling. A single one shuddered, fell down onto Clear’s open palm. It was blue, which reminded him of Aoba, which was why Clear had gotten them. It wasn’t the same blue as his hair, but still it reminded him of his touch. His touch had been dark, calming blue.

Did that color mean anything to Aoba anymore?

Clear closed his eyes, and saw the flowers dye themselves black.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I included lots of hanakotoba (Japanese language of flowers; note that western symbolism is different), so here you go for some context:
> 
> Erica: solitude  
> Forget-me-not: true love  
> White egret flower: my thoughts will follow you into your dreams  
> White roses: silence/devotion/innocence  
> Morning glory: willful promises
> 
> Twitter, @fuwajellyfish  
> Tumblr, clears-jellyfish-dress


End file.
